Confidence
by Rianne
Summary: Do you trust me?


**Disclaimer:** A valentine to CBS, even though they didn't send me one! It is based upon the close of Fallen Idols.

**Author Notes: **A big I'm sorry to all those people I owe thank yous and email replies to, I'm getting there! As an apology here is a little (late) valentines something for all …

Confidence.

By Rianne

Sara couldn't dislodge Warrick's sentiment from her mind.

_Let's hope your taste in men has improved since then._

The words of a friend simply wanting the best for her.

If only he knew.

Things had definitely improved.

She licked her lips, giving into her smile as she stepped forward.

The small bathroom was cooler now; the residual steam from his earlier shower had dissipated.

Her feet were bare against the luxurious smooth of under-floor heating tiles.

Her soft footsteps silent and stealth.

He didn't look up; continuing to cloak his beard beneath the fresh, clean scented lather.

Soapy bubbles sliding free, escaping in rivulets down the strength of his forearms.

God, she loved those arms.

Loved the weight of them around her, loved the sight of them reaching out for her, loved all the ways he used them to keep her close.

They made her feel warm.

Wanted, desired.

Made her feel confident.

Made her brave.

The anticipation growing, just at the sight of them, encouraged her fingers to glide without deliberation to the zipper on her top and as she watched him, to lower it with tempting promise.

Feeling sexy and all woman.

Her breath caught when her head lifted to find she was watched.

The image of him meeting her gaze in the mirror making her insides do an excited little flip.

He had halted in his ablutions, aware of her now.

Her arousal fluttering into life as she watched his attention caress away from her face and lovingly stroke over her, the barely recognisable, confident-looking woman in the mirror.

Heat illuminating her skin as his gaze explored the newly exposed inner curves of her breasts.

It didn't seem to matter how many times he had seen them, they still held unfathomable power over him. One she could never fully understand, but enjoyed the benefits of, all the same.

And when his eyes once again rose to meet hers what she saw expressed there caused that sensual warmth to intensify.

Her nipples tightening against the fabric of her top.

And a flutter of memory, his hot mouth tugging those sensitive peaks, momentarily distracted her mind and made heat flood through her body.

No man had ever elicited responses from her the way he did.

He didn't even have to touch her.

And in an instant the thought was there.

The gleam of an idea. Connecting the dots.

The shaving soap, the razor.

Would he let her shave him?

An act of utmost trust.

A very personal grooming task.

Another way to be close to him that was almost as intimate as sex?

And thought in her head she couldn't shake it.

She enjoyed being able to openly care for someone.

It had taught her a lot about herself, and had time and time again, found her in situations that she had never before even dreamed she could be.

Had allowed them to discover a wide range of things that were just as stimulating as foreplay for them, and their relationship continued to pleasantly surprise her.

He certainly fed her urge to experiment. Created an environment where she felt encouraged to be open and confident to ask.

She was stilled awed, everyday, to find herself here. That she was finally allowed to be this close with him.

She knew she could only try.

So decision made she stepped around him, and reaching out secured the tool she required.

She found his reflection again.

They stood watching each other in the mirror, wary, waiting.

"Do you trust me?" she questioned, breaking the standoff, her eyes as cautious as they were loving.

Her voice sounding wonderfully sure, as she held the straight razor aloft.

Turning back, chin held high, she found a curious and expectant look on his face.

She felt powerful.

Took steps towards him with a sensual roll to her hips.

Halting close, nose-to-nose.

He studied her another moment, his eyes so blue and filled.

"Intimately," he breathed.

She felt her vision waver as his word rasped.

All the power momentarily back in his command.

How did he do that?

Just one word and there she was again.

Stumbling over the emotion in his voice. The sincerity.

Her insides tumbling.

Her heartbeat dancing.

And her confidence soared.

No one had ever loved her like this.

She let her eyes crinkle, delighted, the emotions in her expression so powerful, not needing to be spoken, transcending prose.

And he returned her smile with his own eyes, the glitter there echoing her sentiment completely.

She knew his thoughts and he hers.

He looked deeply inside of her to the places only he could see. He knew her like no one else.

And that heightened everything.

Added delight to their intimacies, pushing one another to the boundaries of personal space and pleasure.

And so with final and unwavering consent he tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

Offering her his complete and heady trust.

He knew he'd be completely vulnerable, he was surrendering to that.

Permission granted.

Wow. Things had infinitely changed.

Her palm rose to steady him, her fingertips slipping into the cool of his still damp curls.

His cheek and neck warm beneath her touch. His pulse visibly thumping in his throat, making his Adams apple bob.

The only betrayal of his true inner turmoil. Of how intensely she affected him.

But as she moved closer those eyelids flickered.

He was watching her, pretending he wasn't. His eyes open only a sliver, but she could feel the heat of his gaze. Felt bathed in the azure glow of it.

He was far too curious to just experience this blindly, far too visually stimulated.

He was teasing her. Playing cat and mouse. Moving the heat of his gaze.

She could feel the sweep of his visual caress, dusting over her lips, her cheek, and the curve of her jaw.

Toying with her concentration.

He was pushing his luck.

Making her question once again what he saw when he looked at her like that.

When he looked at her in such a way that he intensely heated each newly examined place, the scrutiny sweet torture. He studied her as if memorizing her, adoring her, all the while warming her skin with his calming breaths.

But he would not distract her. She was determined.

And with one of those calm breaths of her own she pushed aside her own self-consciousness and set to work, resolved to focus on the task.

Attempting to set up the rhythm required. The blade scratching through the hair and soap. Breaking down the connection between the hair and his skin.

Breaking down another barrier between them.

She had never done this for a lover before. And it was strangely thrilling.

To know that she held such power over him, to know that one wrong move could be disastrous.

It made her swallow.

Watching the way he responded to each stroke of the blade. The way his eyelids wavered. Exhaling with a heavy pant at first, only when she lifted the blade away. He was after all only human, and well aware of her clumsy nature.

But he slowly started to relax.

Trust blossoming, intensifying and arousing.

The rapidity of her blinking had slowed too.

Her trust in herself growing.

She felt dreamy and restful.

She leant back to rinse the blade in the basin behind her.

Swaying, light on her feet, and felt his palms fall, landing heavily on her hips.

Steadying her. But he also had ulterior motives.

Sneaky warm fingertips, gliding under the edge of her top to lie against the ultra sensitive bare skin of her lower back.

Drawing her into his body.

His pelvis coming into contact with hers.

Grounding them.

He was hot through the cotton of her pyjama bottoms.

She could feel him, aroused and straining against her.

Damn near flustering her out of her mind.

She took another controlled breath, before continuing.

And time moved slowly, allowing them to feel this out.

Her own legs parting easily, naturally.

Letting them set up a slow, yet increasing rhythm against one another. One that matched her pace with the blade.

Until she only had under his chin left to shave, the trickiest area.

She could hear their combined breathing, could see him still peeking at her like an excited little boy at Christmas.

The urge to suck hard on his pouting lower lip, and rock harder against him was driving her crazy, to feel the heat of his tongue duelling with hers…

No!

She had to show some willpower. He would not distract her until she had finished this task.

She could resist him.

Well, she could try and distract him, try and play him at his own game. She had some taunts too.

With a quick slip of her wrist, the rest of the zipper on her top was undone.

The fabric naturally parting with her elevated breathing.

The catch of it against her skin feeling wonderfully sensual.

Oh, he was looking down now.

He wanted to make this hard for her, well now he could find out what it was like for it to be hard!

The restraining hand in his hair flexed as it reasserted itself in his crisp curls, tugging hard once, re-enforcing her control, and then lifting to tilt his jaw upwards for access, effectively preventing him from eyeing her breasts.

But he wasn't playing nice.

Clearly unhappy that she was drawing this out to frustrate the hell out of him his fingers started to drift, gliding tauntingly up her sides, as she fought the shivers.

The sides of his index fingers drawing a slow lazy line under the curve of each breast.

She would not tremble, she would not tremble.

She cocked her brow, challengingly and he had the cheek to return it.

Ha! Busted, he'd been caught peeking.

But he just grinned. Cocky bastard.

Forcing her brow to furrow she determinedly raised the razor.

Her hand was shaking. Damn it!

She forced it to still. Stiffening her muscles.

She was going to win this. He was not going to distract her before the job was done like he usually managed to do.

Not this time.

Her now steady hand approached his skin with the razor once more.

And he chose that moment to play his final advantage. Thumbs just once, decisively swiping across her desperate nipples.

Sensation arched her back.

Damn him! Was he trying to kill her? Or himself?

Oh, who was she kidding, she didn't care.

As he stroked her again she gave, growling wildly, and she was gone. Her body launched heatedly into his.

Arms flung around his neck, the blade, an almost forgotten afterthought, dropped into the basin behind her with a splash of water and a muted clang of metal against ceramic.

Her mouth hungrily seeking his and sucking hard, tasting the tang of lather and him, as she tumbled blissfully into his ravenous kiss.

The full fury of relinquishing restraint all consuming.

And then they were moving; blindly stumbling, he was smearing leftover shaving cream all over her as they struggled backwards intertwined.

Bumping uncoordinated into furniture and walls until the bed made contact with the back of her thighs and they met their soft mattress with a giddy bounce.

Damn it, he'd won again.

But if she had to loose, what a way to go…


End file.
